Girls: the Paul Lahote Manifesto
by Guns and Drums
Summary: Paul had girls figured out. Until he didn't. For the lovely "StealthLiberal," who is too neat to be hanging out with riffraff like me. AU polyamorous drabble series.
1. Chapter 1

**GIRLS: THE PAUL LAHOTE MANIFESTO**

**I gave my husband a cup for** **Christmas**.  
><em>StealthLiberal<em> **said she'd write me a one-shot if I followed through.  
>I couldn't decide between two plotlines.<br>I'd get both for a price.  
>I have bought Sam's HEA for PaulLeah.  
>Good trade.<br>**

* * *

><p>Paul Lahote had girls figured out. It hadn't taken very long. And sure, he didn't know <em>why<em> they did half the things they did and he didn't understand even half of that. But he knew what to do in almost all worst-case scenarios.

Like that time Kim got chased by a swarm of bees? The only reason she didn't put a spike through Jared's dick was because Paul got the wonderful experience of talking him through the following week. Because that bastard had no tact.

Paul suffered for his art.

Phasing put almost everyone's life into a total tailspin. It probably messed with Paul the least. Which is a relative evaluation given that, at the age of sixteen he all of sudden realized he could burst into a giant fucking dog with more ease than it took to scratch his ass. But all things being equal – he was well off compared to his brothers. He didn't even have any whack ass girl problems.

He wasn't pining after some mentally disturbed albino. He hadn't imprinted on anyone – let alone some girl with the biggest fangirl crush _ever_, or his fiancée's cousin. He also hadn't tried to kill anyone. He'd mostly just been fucking with Bella that day on the road. Jacob was warped in the head if he thought he'd actually hurt the waif. Pain in the ass? Yes. Attack victim? Not so much. He got enough of Sam's head to know that he could never hurt a person. They all did.

There was a lot about Sam that didn't make sense to Paul. But on a really basic level – maybe a lupine level – he got it. So he never told anyone what he heard on patrols and he never held it against Sam. Sam was really good at holding it against Sam. It wasn't his fault that he lived in a loony bin and his biology flipped the bird to the best girl that ever happened to him.

There was also a lot about Leah that didn't make sense to Paul. She wasn't like most girls. She wasn't like most wolves. But just like Sam, Paul let her rant. Patrolling with Leah mostly involved letting her murderous diatribe go. He wasn't even sure if she realized she was doing it. Because she could still hold conversation while the muttering ensued in her head. Maybe it was a multi-tasking, girl kinda thing. Paul thought it was probably subconscious. But Paul also understood the need to just hate the fuck out of whatever had done you wrong in life.

Paul had hated his Mom for a really long time. Hate was a hard thing to do when you were eight years old, but his Mom had up and left him and his Dad. Lit right out of Tacoma and then Paul had started intentionally breaking things around the house that had a close tie with her. When Paul had mauled their Christmas tree that first year without her – topped with a handmade star, crafted by his mother during her 'artsy' phase – his Dad decided to take his son back to his own childhood house. So La Push became home and fourth grade got easier and Mom became mom became Janice.

So Paul sure as hell wasn't going to begrudge Leah hating her ex-fiancé or her cousin or anyone else that gave her a line of bullshit for the next decade or so. No one had told him that's why patrol shifts changed he was the only one to work with Leah nowadays, but he wasn't a moron – despite what everyone else thought.

He figured it out. He let her hate. He let her talk. He let her talk shit, didn't give her any and didn't ignore her.

It was hard to ignore Leah Clearwater.

* * *

><p><em>Hey, Leah?<em> Paul projected his thoughts towards her as he sat on his furry butt near the treaty line. _I was wondering…_

_No._ She responded instantaneously. _Don't you "I was wondering…" me. No. Definitely not._

_You don't even know what I'm going to ask._ Could she sense him rolling his eyes?

_Packmind, dipshit._

Well, that answered that question. Because he could certainly sense her rolling her eyes. Or maybe that was just standard issue Leah response mechanism._ I haven't been thinking about what I want to ask you, though._

_Not concretely. But I can sense and smell it three miles down the treaty line._

_And you still say no?_

_Yes._

_Yes! Really?_

_No. I meant 'yes, I still say no.' Not gonna happen, Paul. Sorry._

_Really?_

_Really what?_

_Are you really sorry? I've never heard you say that to anyone that isn't your brother. And that was only the one time you accidently got Tabasco sauce in his eye._

There was a pause, but Paul quieted his mind and waited.

_Yes, I am sorry. It must suck for you all to be Alpha-ordered away from women for several months. Though I get that it's a control thing. Still, blue balls is a totally legitimate medical condition._

_Please don't tell me that… Sam hasn't ordered you away from guys._

_I don't think Sam will ever order me to do anything. For his own health and well-being._

_What about while in wolf form?_

_**Definitely**__ not._

Then, Quil phased into the collective consciousness and the pair knew their shift was up. Paul phased back immediately, not needing that pubescent horn dog knowing what he and Leah were thinking about.

Paul stood from the pine needle-ridden forest floor and pulled his shorts on. Well, it had been worth a shot. And he at least knew that propositioning Leah would have either ended with a yes or a no. And the no would've been followed by a right hook to the head or she would've just let it lie. No stupid girly bullshit. Paul appreciated that.

He heard her coming through the underbrush and she emerged carefully out of the trees as she slipped the sundress over herself. Leah was attractive. There wasn't a lot of getting around that. And if they had sex, he wouldn't break her. And he liked her.

"I feel like you kinda got metaphorically screwed on this one, Paul," Leah offered a half smirk as she wound her arm over his shoulder. "Because, honestly," she looked him up and down appraisingly, "it's not personal. It really isn't. But… I wouldn't have looked twice at you before Pack because I was a faithful girlfriend. And now I won't look twice at you after Pack because you haven't imprinted and 'just a fuck' or not, I'm not dealing with that again. So, yes. Sorry."

Wow. Leah didn't take any crap from anyone and Paul respected a girl who could go toe-to-toe with her own demons and not dissolve into tears. Leah might've had more balls than he did.

Guess it would've never worked out then.

* * *

><p>Paul Lahote did <em>not<em> have girls figured out. All it took was a split half of a fucking second of looking at Jacob's older sister for, now, eighteen years worth of experiential knowledge to go out the window, down the drain and get run over by semi piloted by a drunk one-legged midget.

Paul imprinted on Rachel Black on a Thursday. He remembered because the shock of it barely allowed him to get out of the house before he phased. But in those few human seconds he remembered thinking he was going to hurl and it had been chili day at QTS. Thursdays were always chili days.

He had to wait a whole day and not eat a goddamn thing before he could go back to the Black's house, stare down both Billy and Jake and explain to Rachel what the hell happened.

It was weird. It was weird as hell. He'd been thinking idly about her through the whole interim. It wasn't obsessive like with Jared and it wasn't pining like with Sam. It was just passing thoughts. He wondered if Rachel watched sci-fi TV. What did she think about the color blue? And sure, it wasn't anything aggressive or unhinged, but he didn't like the new Jiminy Cricket in the back of his head directing his thought processes. But he also really, really wanted to go see her.

She took it all rather well. Jake had had the courtesy to explain Pack to her. Apparently, Paul wasn't _entirely_ in the woods when he phased the day before. She took the imprinting business with a grain of salt and confirmed that she could feel it too. She could feel the small pull. But Paul had tried to phrase it in such a way that didn't pigeon hole her like the others.

_A gravitational shift_, he'd called it. _It's like everything changes and the wolf just wants to be there for the imprint. The wolf will be whatever the imprint needs_.

"I could really use a body guard at the next Canucks game."

* * *

><p>"Another one bites the dust, huh, Lahote?" Leah sighed as she tromped up his front steps and sat beside him.<p>

Paul shrugged. "It's not so bad."

"Don't turn into another brainwashed dog zombie, please?" Leah offered with a scoff. "Think with your head, not your dick. I know it's hard for you."

He glanced at her and smirked. "No, I mean it Lees. I like spending time with Rachel. She actually is pretty cool. But… that pull – that pull for closeness, for sex – that both Sam and Jared have. Totally not there."

"Maybe you're broken," she glanced obviously down at his groin.

"I'm definitely not broken."

* * *

><p>When Jake had insisted – as both Paul and Rachel watched a <em>Jurassic Park<em> marathon – that if any funny shit happened on his couch, he would set both it and them on fire - Rachel scoffed.

"Yeah, because my girlfriend would love that."

"I'm just warning you two," Jacob offered plainly before proceeding to go something stupid with Embry.

Paul stared at the TV – not seeing anything – and processing information for about five minutes before he spoke. "Rach can I ask you a something?"

"Shoot," she replied, not peeling her eyes from the TV.

"I don't want you to think this is weird or leading into anything – I'm just asking."

Rachel removed the bowl of Doritos from her lap and proceeded to look at Paul. He was glad she realized he was about to ask a serious question. "It's fine. Go ahead."

"Are you sexually attracted to me at all?"

Her face contorted momentarily. Her eyes bugged a little and her lips pursed as she made a funny noise in her throat. "Is it offensive if I laugh?"

"No," Paul shook his head with a grin. "Not this time. I was just wondering. I'm the same way. I don't like you like that. But… imprints have ended up that way. And I was just checking."

"Paul, I'm gay. Have been my whole romantically active life. And I like you a lot. You're cool and fun to do stuff with and yes, you are very good looking – I'm a lesbian, I'm not blind – but you hold no sexual attractiveness in my mind. It's not a knock on you. It's just how it is."

"I like that," he nodded appreciatively. "Shit's less complicated."

"Agreed," she offered with a toothy grin. "Now pass the Mountain Dew or feel my wrath."

* * *

><p><em>So how's it going in Zombie Land, eunuch boy? I can't believe we've got through a whole patrol without your waxing eloquent about the girl.<em>

Paul had long since given up on pacing the treaty line. No one was coming through and there were no signs of a Vampire Apocalypse. He'd been plopped down in a rather comfortable bed of leaves and pine needles – the dead kind, not the green ones with all the sap that stuck to the fur. This was a good patch.

_The girl's name is Rachel, Leah. Weren't you two friends in school?_

_Yeah. But we've lost touch over the years. And I'm withholding judgment until I see how this whole imprinted on Paul the Rage Machine thing goes. _He could hear her padding south, towards him. They had five minutes left of patrol. Quil and Jared would be by soon. If Jared wasn't fucking late again.

_I'm real enraged_, Paul noted sarcastically as a yawn echoed through his chest and out his muzzle, causing a few dead brown leaves to puff out and way from his snout. _It's not gonna be like that with us._

_I'm so sure_, Leah insisted as she trotted out from a patch of thickly settled trees. Wolves looked funny when they rolled their eyes, Paul noted.

Leah trotted around his form, her nose coming to snuff at his ears, she jostled his shoulder and then stepped on his tail before laying down next to him, her head on her paws. _Still smells like Paul. Still sounds like Paul._

_If it looks like a Paul and acts like a Paul, it's probably a Paul._

_What makes you think you and Rachel Black are gonna break the imprinted glass ceiling, huh?_ She questioned lightly as she rolled slightly onto her side and proceeded to make a toy out of Paul's left ear.

_Because I'm not sexually attracted to her, Lees. We covered that._

_Yeah, but you're broken, remember? _She issued a playful kick to his hip.

_I'm not broken, Leah. She's gay._

* * *

><p>It was 4PM. And by most accounts, that was not a rude calling time. But Paul had taken a double shift to cover for Sam while he went with Emily went to an occupational therapy appointment. That meant he'd just come off twelve hours of mind numbing patrolling.<p>

The caloric burn alone was enough to put him into a food or sleep coma. He'd come home, eaten a box of cereal – dry – and then passed out on his couch. He'd have another seven hours of peaceful sleep until his Dad got off second shift and came home. So when Paul saw the cable box read 4:07PM he knew he couldn't tear the head of whoever was knocking on his front door.

"Coming…" he groused. He rolled off the couch. Thinking over essentials in case the caller was not Pack – which was unlikely. Nothing incriminating around? Nope. He had clothes on? Pants… good enough.

He swung the door open and Leah Clearwater was perched lithely on the railing of his porch. She was glancing away, towards his neighbor's yard and he could only see her profile. "This better be good Lees. I'm catching up on my beauty sleep."

He watched as she tried to suppress her grin. "I went by to see Rach, today. I haven't had a chance since she's been back. I missed her."

Paul yawned and leaned against the doorframe. "Yeah, she asked about you yesterday, actually."

"I did know she was gay, by the way," Leah continued before finally glancing to meet Paul's gaze. Her expression was clear and her eyes were bright, a neutral expression playing across her features. It was the first time Paul had seen anything that wasn't anger or an occasional bout of laughter at someone else's expense on her face. She looked… placid. "She told me when we were sophomores in high school. I didn't know if you knew. I didn't know what an imprint would do to that."

"What did you think imprint was going to do to human sexuality?" Paul asked as he quirked a brow.

Leah offered a one-shouldered shrug. "I don't know. Knowing the mindfuck that it's done to others, turning her straight might've actually still had a better ending than some. Then again, your being forever attracted to a girl that wants nothing to do with your whole gender has a certain soap opera angst quality to it. That would've been pretty bad too."

"Definitely," Paul crossed his arms. "But we lucked out. Rachel is still gay and we are still not attracted to each other and we are still going to a hockey game next week."

"So, you've imprinted…" Leah hopped off the banister and scuffed her feet along the porch a few steps, her hands in her pockets and her eyes straight ahead. "And it ends well this time."

"Guess so," Paul agreed.

She stopped in front of him and glanced up. Even at six feet, Leah had a few more inches to go if she wanted to out do Paul on her jump shots. "_I was wondering…"_

Paul quirked a brow at the girl standing before him.

_Was she…_

And then she blinked a few times, looking at him through those eyelashes and grinned devilishly. Paul knew that look.

_She was._

Leah didn't wait for a response. She reached up and closed the few inches making quick contact with Paul. She kissed him aggressively - fists to skin and teeth to lips. The growl started in her chest but radiated out of Paul's throat. She was flush to him and Paul had not been expecting that. At all. She pulled herself close and he felt her nails dig into the back of his neck. She matched Paul's skin temperature but she felt the warmth. It radiated across her cheeks through her head and in her core. She hadn't felt like this in a _long_ time.

Paul removed himself from his shocked delirium quickly enough. He backed inside and Leah kicked the door closed. He reached down to grab her ass firmly and bit right at her collar bone. He'd wanted to do that for so fucking long. She hooked one leg around his, allowing his hand easier access to her, before rolling her hips into his. Hard. She sighed - she was right - she knew she'd get a reaction out of Paul awfully quick. And she was glad. She needed this. She _really_ needed this. It had been way too long. Paul thought he had it bad? Leah hadn't even been touched since Sam phased almost two years ago.

"Foreplay is overrated until we get bored, okay?" she told him as she shoved him down to sit on his couch and wound her fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants.

Because as much as Leah was assured that Paul would be a good lay, she didn't want to get involved. She knew the hazards of a non-imprinted wolf. She wasn't stupid. But a purely platonic imprinted wolf? That was a horse of a different color. She'd always had a soft spot for one of the only Pack members to not give her shit about her being a bitch. He'd never said anything about her spite, the absolute vitriol she spewed about Sam, Emily, the Pack - even him - and all their mothers, too. He'd just let her go.

He figured it out. Paul let her rant. He let her hate. He let her talk. He let her talk shit, didn't give her any and didn't ignore her.

It was hard to ignore Leah Clearwater.


	2. Chapter 2

**So, this is - more or less - turning into the drabble ground of escapist, worry-free, instant gratification courtesy of Paul's abs, Leah's badassery, and Rachel's sarcasm. This is gonna be a lot like prime time sitcoms, insofar as the plot points between installments may not be storied, but they will be connected. **

**It will be fluffy, angsty, lemony (if the mood so strikes me), funny, witty and maybe a tad crazy. All chapters will be marked with the appropriate prompt, some ratings and warnings.**

**I am the mayor of this little cluster, but **StealthLiberal** pulls the puppet strings and prompts me when we're feeling overwhelmed with life, because fanfic is the cookie dough shared across the internet.**

* * *

><p><strong>Prompt: <strong>Leah high on painkillers  
><strong>RatingsWarnings: **T - for secks talkin' and too much Vicodin

* * *

><p>"Paul, guess what?"<p>

"Leah?"

"Yeah, but that's not what I want you to guess, silly."

"Leah you sound funny. Is everything okay?" Paul had been enjoying the everliving shit out of actually being able to sit on his couch and watch TV for. Fucking. Once. When his phone rang. Most of him said _to hell with it_. But part of him said_ you should really probably pick that up_.

His Leah senses were tingling.

They weren't the same as his Rachel senses. His Rachel senses were like a ball pein hammer to the forehead. His Leah senses were like that stray piece of cobweb you couldn't get off your face after walking through a spiderweb. Barely noticeable but obscenely irritating. And the more they slept together, the more cobwebs Paul walked through.

He blamed the wolf.

The wolf had considered itself mated to Leah, now, because Leah's wolf approved of Paul. Paul thought that was nice of her. But at any rate, since their wolves had mutually accepted each other as a 'mate', Paul's wolf had grown more aware of Leah's presence. Not like imprinting. Because hell knows as awesome as Rachel was, her imprint was always poking in the back of his head. Always.

No, with Leah it was a lot more like a vague leftover from the Pack hivemind. So small and barely noticeable it mostly felt like intuition. And intuition said pick up the phone. So Paul picked up the phone.

He could hear Rachel talking in the background. "_Would you—Leah? Give me the phone. You really don't need to be talking to people right now. You need—For the love of God, I'm driving! Don't grab the wheel. Fine! Talk away!"_

"Paul I'm high as a kite on narcotics!"

Paul sat there. He thought about that statement. He nodded his head once. Okay. "Any particular reason why?"

"Welllll, Jacob and I were having this really heated Batman versus Spiderman debate." Leah started her story and her casual, bubbly – if slightly slurred – nonchalance was a whole other level of weird for Paul. "And Jacob's logic is totally unsound and completely ridiculous as per usual and I got really mad and it all just dissolved into this whole heapin' throw down like it usually does except he accidentally cracked my head against the foundation annnnd—"

"What!"

"Dude," Leah replied sounding a little too much like the main character of a stoner flick. "Chill out. I'm fine. I mean there was like a wicked lotta blood and I _totally _screamed like a girl but Jake and Rach brought me to Carlisle and there's no permanent damage because my skull was totally fine and Carlisle told me to take it easy for a few days and I might have a headache so he gave me some _awesome pills_."

She then proceed to take a breath. Because apparently a stoned Leah spoke in run ons. "I've had, like, seven so far. I'm thinking by the time I get to ten I'll be seeing unicorns and it'll rain skittles and Jim Beam."

"That is the grossest combination I have ever heard in my entire life."

"Paul," Leah replied in a derisive tone. "You're missing the point."

"There's a point to this?"

A pause. "…I dunno." Another pause and a scream, "OH GUESS WHAT?"

"Jesus…" Paul muttered as he jumped. The sound of Leah screaming was a little jarring in the best of circumstances. "What?"

Leah then proceeded to giggle. Yep, that was definitely a giggle. And then it broke out into a full out cackle. "Your imprint thinks I'm hot!"

"Yeah, well so do I."

"So does this mean I have to choose or can you two share?"

This time it was Paul's turn to pause. "Excuse me? What?"

"Do… I… chooooose. Or… can… you… share. With a lesbian. I really like the idea of sharing."

Why were they talking about this right now? Why had it taken them this long to talk about it in the first place. "What kind of sharing are we talking about?" Paul asked. Maybe this should wait for time when Leah wasn't high. "Like at the same time, or she gets every other weekend?"

"I am _not _a custody battle. And I feel like the same time would probably work best considering my schedule hardly allows for me to be a fully supportive sexual partner to you both separately. I mean, I got other shit to do, y'know. Hey, Rachel—give me the phone back. I—Oof!"

There was some rustling and then his distinctly more coherent imprint was on the line. "So… can your penis not touch my vagina? That's my ground rule. Because if it does, so help me god, I'll cut it off and feed it to the whales."

"Could you make it _any_ more clear that you're only in this for Leah?" Paul liked to think he wasn't completely repulsive, even if Rachel didn't find him sexually attractive.

"Sexually? Yeah," Rachel admitted unabashedly. "I mean you're really pretty and all, and I'm willing to let you get away with a lot but your junk in my junk will not end well."

"I can live with that." How did this happen? When did this happen. Paul had just agreed to a threesome with his mate and his gay imprint? How… What… It didn't even fucking matter. This was going to be _fantastic._

"Oh, by the way, I'm in your drive way. So put your upstairs brain back on, because someone's gotta watch Leah for the next twenty four hours for signs of a concussion and ain't gonna be me."

The line clicked dead and Paul opened the door in time to see Rachel trying to prevent Leah from tripping up his steps. Her high seemed to be wearing off awfully quick (which didn't surprise him, given the shapeshifter metabolism) and her pout was pretty fucking priceless as she massaged the back of her head absently.

"I have a headache," she muttered petulantly. "This stuff wears off quick," she jangled the bottle in her other hand.

"She's _all_ yours," Rachel grinned. "We'll chat later."

Leah stopped in the doorway and simply leaned her head against Paul's shoulder. "This is not nearly as much fun without the Jim Beam and Skittles."

Paul grinned and wrapped his arms around Leah's back. "We're gonna have to hold off on the bourbon, but I think I might have some skittles if you want."

"Okay," she pouted. "Can we watch _Jay and Silent Bob Strikeback?_"

"Sure."

* * *

><p><strong>It's going to get polyamorous in here (for those of you not familiar with the vernacular that means 3 people, 1 relationship). If that's not your cup of tea, that's okay. However, feel free to test the threesome waters with me, if you like, as I won't be writing very much smut and all such chapters will have proper warnings. <strong>

**I promise healthy relationship dynamics.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Prompt: **Figuring out the mechanics behind three way sex with two girls, one guy; two shapeshifters, one lesbian; and _no_ assholes.  
><strong>RatingsWarnings: **T - for sex talks and bad language; no smut/lemons

* * *

><p>"This is the most awkward thing I have ever done."<p>

"I'm thinking that's the consensus."

"Well, that's a plus side – we'll never have a split vote."

"What the hell are we voting on?"

"Nothing. I'm just pointing out additional perks."

Both Paul and Rachel had to agree with Leah's statement, though. This was probably the most awkward thing they'd had to deal with. At least in a while. Though, Paul was pretty sure that patrolling with Anna Ateara that one day when she discovered she had eight nipples and panicked was pretty high on "Awkward Scenarios" list.

The three of them were sitting cross-legged on Leah's bed. They figured it was about as neutral of territory as they were gonna get. Paul didn't feel right about climbing into Rachel's bed for sex. Even if it wasn't sex with Rachel. That just seemed a little too invasive for a girl that didn't want him like that. The reverse was pretty much true for his bed. He wasn't about to be the guy that dragged two women in. Plus Leah had a Queen. The biggest between the three of them. Rachel was on a full size futon and Paul needed an end table at the foot of his bed so his legs didn't hang off the edge.

Leah living in her own apartment helped too. A lot. Though Paul thought it woulda been pretty righteous to totally fuck with Jake's head and leave his whole house smelling like Rachel and Paul and Leah and sex and just watch him wander around confused and disturbed. He'd still figure it out, but this way was a lot less fun.

So with bed preferences finally hashed through, the trio sat in a small circle – knees touching to make a funny little star shape.

"So let's do ground rules," Leah offered. "Like do's and don'ts so no one gets uncomfortable. I'd like to start by saying that if anyone puts anything in my ass, I will go postal."

Paul and Rachel glanced towards each other in consideration of the demand before nodding. "Same," Paul agreed. "Uh-huh," Rachel nodded.

"So nothing in anyone's ass ever? Good."

"Since I'm the bisexual here," Leah offered. "I don't really have any qualms about who touching what and where. I just feel like there are going to be less restrictions for either of you about me, you know?"

"I'm not heterophobic," Rachel spoke. "But," she glanced sidelong at Paul's crotch. He only rolled his eyes and sighed in response – he was hardly going to jump the girl. "Your junk cannot touch my junk. And your hands. No hands on my junk. Other places are fine. Like I get that this will be messy at first and I might end up with an accidental arm between my legs or a knee in my groin but no like… intentional contact with my junk. Because I will freak out."

"I'm a lot bigger than both of you," Paul offered. "I feel like it's going to be hard to share a bed and a sex act without my accidentally coming into contact with you, Rach. I don't want to wig you out, and I'm not going to do anything to you don't want – but I'm a straight guy so I don't have that natural reaction to pull away from you."

Leah watched the exchange, trying to consider the thought process of either. Which was hard given that she wasn't a straight guy or a gay woman. This was getting complicated.

"Unless," Paul offered, "we find a way have sex with a three foot barrier between each of us. Now that's either a helluva condom or we're gonna need a bigger bed," he grinned looking around at the parameters of Leah's queen.

"I think given that we've both had sex with Leah, we've gotten to know some basics and it'll just be a learning curve."

"What?" Paul looked up from his slightly distracted posture to the two women across from him.

"What?" Rachel asked. She glanced to Leah next to her – who's eyes were wide and mouth was fighting a grin. Rachel's hand reached up to clap over her own mouth. "Oops! You didn't tell him, I guess."

"I forgot to mention it," Leah giggled. Yeah, that's right. She _giggled._ Or maybe it was just the effort of suppressing the laughter.

"Wh—How—When?" Paul asked. He'd been around Leah often enough that he would've been able to smell _that._

"Uh, you left for a week for a job in Tacoma, remember? And apparently when you're not around to entertain Rach and me, well, we get bored."

"Ooookay," Paul nodded. "I was just curious."

Rachel shook her head, trying to bring herself back to task. "So, back to the point…"

"Paul doesn't touch Rachel in her sex spots?" Paul offered.

Rachel smiled, appreciating that he'd found a succinct way to verbalize it. She wasn't going to run screaming and crying if he touched her – she was a pretty open person – but her girly junk was a Leah-only zone. "_Don't wanna kiss, don't wanna touch… Fernando," _she trilled.

Leah rolled on her back laughing. Paul didn't get it. "What? Who's Fernando? Because four people _definitely _aren't going to fit on this bed."

Leah's laughter only redoubled as Rachel quirked a brow. "Really?" she tested. "_Don't call my name, Alejandro?"_

No response.

"_You know that I love you boy, hot like Mexico,_" Rachel grinned when Leah laughed her way through a relevant line.

"I… am so confused."

"We are definitely having a Lady Gaga sing-a-long when I take you to Seattle next weekend," Rachel nodded decidedly. Couldn't let her imprint go through life uncultured.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry this one took so long kids! For any of you reading TANEC, I had to wait until I got the latest update about Anna out - otherwise this would have spoiled the surprise! Short, I know - but if any of you have any prompts, feel free to leave them in reviews (I allow Anons) and I'll add them to the list. Whether or not the inspiration strikes me to write them - we shall see! I know this is poly, but keep it kosher, kids.<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**Oh, would you look who's finally stopped being such an epic bitchy pants about this update? Seriously, I have no good excuse. Many, many thanks to **jades **from AO3 for kindly pestering me into updating. You rock.**

**Find the update on my AO3 (link on my homepage) because this chapter does not meet FFN's rules and regs for ratings anymore, and I've grown soft and rule-compliant in my old age. You can read and review there.  
><strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Prompt: **Slut-shaming in public hurts big time – no matter who you are  
><strong>RatingsWarnings**: M – for unappealing men and their unappealing words

* * *

><p>"Hey, pretty lady," there was a call behind her. "Why don't you come on over for a visit. You seem like the type to have some fun."<p>

Leah rolled her eyes. She did _not _need this. At all. It had been a long day. A really long day. There had been some funny scents at the border and she had the joy of running a twelve hour patrol – with Jacob – trying to figure it the fuck out, while other wolves phased in and out to run regular patrol. They'd decided the scent was mostly stale and whoever had passed through was long gone. That didn't change the fact that she was exhausted. When she came trudging back to her apartment with mud up to her knees, Paul gave her the once over from the couch.

_Why don't you get a shower, we'll go get something to drink._

_This is why I keep you._

It was a Wednesday night, so the local bar was mostly empty. Except for the regulars. Going to a bar off-days, Leah had learned quickly, was like playing Russian roulette. Sure, there were going to be less people around from Sunday through Thursday nights, but whoever was frequenting a bar scene on a Wednesday at seven-fifteen in the evening was not always a good time.

And sure, Leah could absolutely decimate this man calling out to her without even _needing _to lay a hand on him but she'd had had a long. Fucking. Day. And she really wasn't up to verbal character assassination. She was sorely tempted to just turn around and break his nose.

Paul only quirked a half-grin at the sight of the guy over her shoulder. Paul could also grind the man's entire being until he was the consistency of fresh orange juice, but it was way more entertaining to watch Leah have at it. She was admittedly way more creative than him.

Leah spun on her stool, spinning her Redhook in her hand idly. "No," she said flatly, leveling the caller a serious stare. "But thanks anyways."

She always started out nice. Some people were just drunk out of their minds and wouldn't even remember her in the morning. She turned back around, to restart her conversation.

"Anyways, so Quil was just generally being an assbag and—"

"Oh, c'mon," she was interrupted again. She resisted the urge to growl and only barely managed not to pulverize the glass in her hand. She felt the vibrations through the floor as the Drunken Dillweed sat at the stool on her other side. "Me and the guys are feeling awfully lonesome by ourselves. We could use some brown sugar."

There was the distinct sound of glass on the verge of being turned to powder and Paul did Leah the favor of taking her beer from her. She spun around in her chair, raising herself to her full height. Leah could tell that their interaction was beginning to draw the stares of a fair few people. The bar was hosting at least a dozen.

"Look, whiteboy. You don't go back to that table with your homeboys and leave me the fuck alone, I'm going to kick your nuts so far into your throat you'll need an epi-pen."

"What's your problem?" Intoxicated Idiot finally seemed to sense that the ferocious woman at the bar was _not_ kidding and became a little defensive.

"So long as you go back to your booth with your friends and let me enjoy a drink with mine, then there won't be a problem."

Stupidly Sloshed only snorted in a derisive sort of way and rolled his eyes. Paul leaned into his line of sight on the bar and offered his two cents. It wasn't that Leah couldn't take care of herself – as was amply proven on a very regular basis – but people that didn't know her had a habit of taking her for face value. She seemed an easy one to intimidate in a lonely bar. And, well, Paul just always looked angry. They might as well play to their strengths.

"Hey, dude?" Paul offered. "Leave the lady alone, all right? She's busy."

"Yeah, I'd say."

Leah just narrowed her eyes. Maybe this guy was more tossed than she thought. He wasn't even making sense now. "Wha's wrong, Chief? You'll share her with a dike but not with us? Sharing is caring."

Holy shit.

There was the oddly specific sound of wood on the verge of splintering as Leah gripped the bar beneath her hands. Her stomach fell to her knees and she felt a heat so fierce pulse up her chest, over her face and to the tips of her ears – a kind of heat she hadn't felt since she was human… She opened her mouth to retort but nothing came out. Her head drew a blank as she just stared at Hammered and Heartless as he laughed at his own joke.

Her eyes flitted quickly around the room and she could easily pick out the booth he'd come from – judging by the varying degrees of snickering and staring happening around the table. The rest of the bar was trying not to stare, but had gone silent. They were listening to them. And staring covertly at them. At her.

She swallowed, but her throat got caught halfway down and she couldn't do it for choking. She felt the tension rise up her back and through her neck and cast her spine in cement while it turned the rest of her to jello.

What the hell was happening to her?

The fight or flight instinct kicked in and Leah lunged from her chair towards the stumbling human. She was going to get ample satisfaction from knocking all his teeth down his throat. Then she felt a hand across her lower back and then around to her hip. "Leah, go outside."

She turned around stunned at being stopped. Something had also managed to catch her elbow at the other end of a raised fist. "Huh?" Who said that? Who was talking to her? It was Paul. The contact had immediately melted the spike defensiveness that had her out for blood.

"Leah, please go start the car?"

Her arm wrapped its way around her abdomen and she slid her keys off the bar top. She made it to the small entryway between the bar and the outside before she stopped. It was a small five by five cube with glass doors on each end. It wreaked of cigarette smoke and stale beer. And she just stopped. She sat on the park bench thrust up against one wall in the cramped space.

She played idly with the keys in her lap. She vaguely registered Paul's yelling and the sounds of a physical altercation in the other part of the building. It wasn't a few moments later when Paul flung the door open on his march outside, but stopped short when he saw Leah's slumped posture on that gross park bench.

He squatted down and was low enough that he could look up and see her even as she glanced down. She didn't appear to be looking. Just staring. He pressed a hand to her waist and used the other to lift her chin, kissing her forehead. "C'mon Lee," he whispered. "Let's go home."

They hadn't _actually_ brought a car. Vehicles at the rate gas prices were moving were impractical for shapeshifters that could get most places just fine without one. And the bar was a ten minute walk from Leah's apartment. His request had been designed to allow Leah to leave the bar with some dignity, and not feeling like she was running away.

She was pensive on the walk home and Paul didn't say anything. He kept an arm around her shoulder and she looped one of hers around his waist. She was still staring idly towards the ground. He could tell she was thinking. And probably way too fucking hard. She did that a lot.

"Thank you," she muttered quietly about five minutes into their stroll home. "For back there," she clarified. "In the bar."

"I'm glad you don't want to kill me," Paul offered with a sigh of relief.

"Why would I want to kill you?" Leah replied, absently kicking a piece of gravel unnaturally far down the road.

"I didn't want you to think that I was making you leave. I did ask you. And I only asked because I could see you losing it. I mean, maybe you woulda snapped out of it, but I know you don't like anyone seeing the cracks in your armor, Lee."

She smiled a sad little grin and pulled Paul a bit closer.

"And I'm not a total caveman, but I'm not going to just take it on the chin when someone comes after either you or Rach for being easy. You can have first dibs, but I'm not sitting on the sidelines for that."

"You know it's kinda odd…" she mused. " I mean, you'll probably never get crap about it. Props, maybe. But not crap. At least for the most part. Because you're the boy. People just assume you're getting two for the price of one. But even if we were to judge the scenario by _their_ standards, I'm the one that 'wins'. Because neither you nor Rachel want much to do with each other sexually. So I get two partners without it being an issue."

"Yeah," Paul nodded. "Guys generally view the ability to juggle more than one woman as an accomplishment."

"And in this case it is," Leah smiled before quirking a brow. "Rach and I are a handful. But the point is," she returned to her earlier train of thought. "If I were a boy, I'd be getting fist bumped. But I'm a girl, so people think I'm a slut."

Paul knew she was right, but he couldn't think of anything good to say. So he just listened. "I don't think I'm a slut. I know I'm not. And even if I were, why should the number of my sexual partners make me any less of a person?"

"Your social life is not the content of your character, Leah," Paul affirmed.

Leah had moved a few steps ahead as she'd spoken, but when Paul finished she turned around with a sad smile. She closed the distance and pulled him close, wrapping her arms around his waist in a hug. His arms were heavy and comforting around her shoulders.

"I'm so glad Rachel decided to share you."


	6. Chapter 6

**Prompt: **Apparently Paul sleeps like the dead. But just how dead?  
><strong>RatingsWarnings: **T - for personal space invasion and resultant bad language

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><p>"All right," Rachel whispered. "Commence the experiment."<p>

Leah peered through the small crack in the door above Rachel's head. "I don't know, Rach. The guy wakes up to alarm like a robot. Whether it's work at six or patrol at two in the morning."

"That's because he's programmed that way," Rachel clarified. "Notice he uses that same arcane alarm clock when you and I _both_ have perfectly useful alarms from the twenty-first century? The amount of times I have rolled over in the middle of the night and elbowed him in the face because I forgot there was a third person in the bed borders on several dozen. The man will sleep through a nuclear holocaust, I assure you."

"If you're so sure, why are we experimenting?" Leah grinned down at the girl.

"Because it's fun," Rachel smirked sliding wholly into the room. She approached the bed and knelt down. She issued his shoulder a slight prod with her index finger. "Paul?" He didn't move much. He adjusted slightly, but that could've been from anything.

"Paul," she sang a little louder and poked a little firmer. This time he grunted.

Leah came to join her and gave Paul's shoulder a shove. "Paul," she barked. There was a muffled noise in his throat and nothing further. "I bet if you scream he'll wake up. Imprint senses and all."

"Probably," Rachel agreed. "But that would be cheating. Not to mention, not very nice."

"Touche," Leah granted. She stepped over Paul's side and sat on the bed on the other side. She dragged her finger's gently down his side and the only result was what might've been an attempt at rolling over. "Wow… he's normally pretty damn ticklish. He must be totally out. I didn't think that was something you could shut down in sleep."

"Paul," Rachel said forcefully as she gave him a powerful shove. He growled and rolled over onto his stomach.

Leah grinned and crawled onto his back. Nothing. She leaned down and flicked his ear. That clearly bothered him but he only batted at it with a hand in a particularly lupine way. "That's pretty legit," Leah looked down at the back of Paul's head in awe. "I'm not exactly a waif."

Then they tried their noisy tactics. They talked, they shouted, they clapped and snapped and banged things together. Still, Paul did not show any signs of waking.

"For the love of God," Leah rolled her eyes. "It's a good thing we have each other, because if either of us had a night-time emergency we'd die alone with Paul passed the fuck out."

"Hm… I don't think we're approaching this right," Rachel hummed in thought. "Oh! I have an idea. First we have to get him to roll back over, though."

It took a few more minutes of creative shoving and prodding, but Rachel and Leah managed to coax an unconscious Paul into rolling onto his back once more.

"Now what?" Leah asked. "What's your plan?"

Rachel glanced down at him and cocked her head to one side. "I feel kinda bad disturbing him," she admitted.

"You feel bad _now_, not for the past fifteen minutes, though?" Leah asked.

"Well, just look at him," Rachel pouted. "It's kinda cute, actually. He doesn't look this relaxed, like, ever when he's awake."

Leah stood up and joined Rachel. She stood over the large sleeping man and really looked at him this time. Leah knew Rachel would've been right. Leah learned quickly in the brief amount of time it had been just her and Paul, that Paul valued sleep. And Leah thought it was for more than just obvious reasons. Paul carried a lot with him. A lot that even she didn't know, despite sharing his brain on occasion. People gave the likes of her, Sam, and Jacob credit for shielding their thoughts but Paul was like a steel trap. His emotions bled through like water in an open canal, but never his thoughts. He would be mad, but no one ever knew _why_. And that was okay with Leah. If they guy got to keep part of his head, then good for him. But part of her worried that he'd become some used to bottling stuff up as a human that he even did it in his own head.

He carried that with him. Leah knew. Rachel definitely knew. Because Rachel felt the pendulum swing of his emotions in a residual way. When Paul pushed, Rachel was pulled. When Paul tugged, Rachel was yanked. Like some kind of yin and yang the bond fused them emotionally. Paul realized this belatedly after a long day when he'd asked what Rachel was watching on TV and she proceeded to burst into tears. He'd been a little more careful about getting carried away after that.

He still didn't talk, though.

But both women knew that sleep offered the guy some level of peace. His face wasn't so taut and harsh. The planes of his jaw and his cheeks not so severe and hard. He looked a bit more like he did pre-phase, more like an eighteen year old boy and less like a man with too many ugly stories to tell.

But for all his attempts to try and not kill Rachel with residual emotional overflow, Rachel was trying to lighten Paul up. If he thought back more than a year, he'd remember a time when he was also well-known as a practical joker. He hadn't maintained it through the phase. But imprinting on Rachel had reminded him a bit of what he used to be like. Doing seemingly ridiculous things, just to make someone smile – even if it was at someone else's expense every now and then.

Often Rachel made Paul smile. And sometimes jokes were had at his expense - this was one of those times.

Rachel smirked in a way that Leah knew meant she was up to no good. She stood over Paul, her hands raised to her shoulders as she wiggled her fingers. Then – quick as a flash – she darted nimble fingers down and grabbed her imprint's junk. Leah's hand's snapped to her mouth in a gasp as Paul shot bolt upright and half fell out of the bed. Rachel toppled over from the shock of his moving so quickly and landed on her butt right next to Leah, mouth agape.

Paul finally saw the two as he got his bearings. "What the fuck is going on?" he mumbled.

"It was her," Rachel pointed at Leah quickly. "I'm the lesbian."

"Hey!" Leah whipped her head around to the lying girl next to her.

Paul just looked between the two confused. "What the fuck are you two doing?"

"We're watching you sleep," Rachel giggled.

"More than watching, apparently," he nodded and flopped back down in the bed. "Cut that shit out."

Rachel and Leah then proceeded to dissolve into a decidedly immature fit of giggles on the bedroom floor.

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><p><strong>As always: prompts are highly encouraged. This drabble series continues so long as y'all are willing to provide even a kernel of an idea for me to springboard off of. Truth be told, I'm really not that creative, so I need a starting point.<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**Prompt: **In the spirit of TMI, I had the worst post-nasal drip I've had in a _long_ time this week. Apparently that's inspiring.  
><strong>RatingsWarnings: **T – for sass, and I'm far to paranoid to accept that I might've written something rated K+ only to somehow scar and traumatize the obvious hordes of ten year olds that are on FFn and reading my stuff *sarcasm hand*

* * *

><p>"Do <em>not<em> come in here!"

"Why?" Paul inquired. "Are you dying?"

"Yes," Rachel spat back.

Paul was taken slightly aback by that. Rachel was never a bitch. Not really, anyways. That was kind of Paul's territory. Rachel was occasionally sarcastic and almost always chipper as hell. Regardless, Paul didn't listen; that was never really his strong suit. He turned the knob and edged the bedroom door open slightly. He waited to see if Rachel protested, but he heard nor felt nothing.

"You'll catch my disease," she warned as he edged the door open and stepped fully inside.

He turned around and for a moment he couldn't find her. This was a feat, considering the girl was close to six feet tall in room that consisted – almost entirely – of a bed and dresser.

Turns out she was playing chameleon and hiding in the bed under the covers. Paul could only tell because it was lumpy in a girl-shaped way right in the middle; otherwise she blended into the rumpled covers perfectly. He dropped his keys on the dresser and sat at the edge of the bed. His hand dropped to a part of her form under the bedspread. It felt like her hip. She whined like a petulant child but curled her body closer to Paul's. "What's wrong, babe?"

"I have the most awful head cold," Rachel replied. He could hear her pouting through the fabric. That much he could deduce. Their small place had minimal air circulation, and he could smell that she was sick. And he also noticed her new decorating technique, which mostly seemed to consist of tissues. Everywhere. Lesser immune systems probably would've already been taken prisoner in such an environment.

"A cold?" That surprised him. Paul had learned quickly in life that he was a grade-A sissy anytime he got sick. It was nice to have a wolfy metabolism, now. He'd also learned the women were generally grade-A champs when it came to illness. Paul didn't really know why, but he thought that was one gender stereotype he saw proven right time and again in his own life. So Rachel turning to a mopey lump for a head cold was surprising.

"Yes, a cold," she said, realizing his tone of surprise. "I'm being waterboarded by my own fluids and it's awful."

"Gross," Paul insisted.

"I told you not to come in."

"Because I'm just going to let you sit in here in your misery?"

"I'll get you sick," she said quietly.

"I think I'll be all right," Paul smirked. "You work on trying to find your way out of that cocoon; I'll see if I can find you something for that waterboarding thing."

Rachel extracted herself from her blankets with a sniffle and a groan only to hear Paul banging around in the kitchen. She wrapped the bedspread around herself and leaned over to the side of the bed to watch through the open doorway. The size of their place precluded her need to get up.

"What're you doing?"

"Well, since you did the grocery shopping this week," Paul spoke from the other side of the fridge's door, "I figured you probably bought two basic ingredients, and… aha! You did."

"Ginger?" she quirked a brow as she glanced at the knobby root Paul had pulled from the fridge.

"Yep. And a lemon."

"What are you making?" Rachel asked curiously, now spread the wrong way across the bed.

"Old Indian medicine," Paul replied sarcastically.

"Don't start with me," she glared, not in the mood to be pestered.

Paul smiled as he put the tea kettle on the stove. "That's why I love you, Rach. And tea. I'm making you tea."

"You know how to make tea?"

Paul glanced over at her like she'd just asked if he knew where his own ass was. "I'm not a total idiot, Rach. I can make tea."

"I'm not saying you're an idiot, you idiot. I'm just saying I've never seen you take a liking to tea."

Paul shrugged one shoulder as he deftly peeled the ginger in his hand. "Not a big fan, really. My dad used to make this stuff. Antibiotics, meds… you know no one around here can afford that kinda stuff. Ginger is kind of a medicinal catch all."

"Really?"

"Mhm," he nodded, slicing the root and dropping the discs into the heating water. "Promotes an appetite. Good for upset stomach or carsickness. Generally known for kicking minor illnesses like colds right in the face."

"Is that cayenne? You're going to poison me!" Rachel wailed, watching her imprint rummage in the spice cabinet only to pull out the red powder and drop some in the kettle. She collapsed back on the bed, defeated.

"I'm trying to help you get your fluids to drain out of the front of your face instead of the back. Trust me, you won't taste it." He cleaved a lemon in two with one swift whack of a knife he found on top of the microwave and squeezed its contents into the kettle. He dropped the purged rind into the pot and poured the concoction into a mug and grabbed a bag of potato chips.

"Chips and tea?" she asked with a smile as he sat back down on her bed and proffered the mug.

"Salt and tea," he countered.

"So, like, literally salting the earth?" she asked.

"Kinda, yeah. It helps with the swelling. Which – when you get down to it – is the major issue behind like seventy five percent of most medical issues. Something is swollen that is not supposed to be swollen."

Rachel laughed and took a careful sip of the piping brew. She grimaced. "It's takes some getting used to," Paul assured her.

"That is _strong_," she agreed, reaching her hand into the bag for a chip. "This is the most interesting take on a cold remedy I have ever heard of." She smiled as Paul reached to steal a chip from the bag.

"Well, it's still better than pumping your system full of synthetic drugs if you really don't need to. Drink the tea. Eat lots of salty things. Stay away from sugar. Leave the fan off when you take a shower and enjoy the steam. You'll be fine in a day or two."

Rachel took another drag of the tea and savored it. She hummed in contentment and leaned forward, resting her forehead on Paul's shoulder. "You're the best, you know that?"

Paul grinned and wrapped his arms around her torso. She melted easily into the heat. "I just hope you're not so miserable sooner rather than later. I'm not used to you in a bad mood. You kinda spoil the entire world by being so damn chipper all the time."

"Someone has to balance out your bitter stoicism, Paul."

"I'm not bitter," he replied peevishly.

"And you're not very stoic either, but you act like it, Mr. Tough Guy. Can't let the whole world know you're really actually nice and funny and very huggable."

"You're ruining my image, babe."

"Mm," Rachel muttered distractedly. "Who woulda thought you'd end up being the nurturing one?" Paul made himself comfortable, leaning back against the headboard, and Rachel followed suit burrowing happily into his very warm side.

"Totally ruining my image," he told her with a smile.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks to <strong>Firefly-class **aka** jades **for being the cricket on my shoulder and reminding me when this has gone too long without an update. As usual, this story continues so long as I have prompts, so prompt away!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Prompt: **The adventures of bathroom sharing with two wolves and one human; two girls and one guy. May the odds be ever in your favor.**  
>RatingsWarnings: **T – for sass

* * *

><p>"So help me God, I'll kill you and leave your lifeless corpse on the side of the road for the buzzards!"<p>

Paul pulled the door open enough for his smug-ass face to fit through. He appraised Leah quickly with a cheeky grin. "Calm your tits, Leah. And stop being so overdramatic." He slammed the door back closed before Leah could complete her lunge toward him. She stopped just in time.

They really couldn't afford to destroy _another_ door. People were going to start to worry. Plus, Paul would never let Leah live it down. She was still reminded on the daily of how he'd literally banged her through the bedroom door. Particleboard didn't stand up to much; it did just fine standing up to Paul's ego though… and his incessant need to occupy the bathroom like a _goddamn chick._

"Paul I have to pee like a fucking racehorse!" Rachel wailed as she leaned against the wall.

"You can wait or you can go dig a hole," he told her through the door. They then heard the shower flick on. "I don't wake up this sexy. It takes some work."

"You are such an ass," Rachel ground out. She stood upright and stomped down the hall. Rachel watched her leave for a moment before turning back to beat on the door. "Your hyperactive facial hair growth will be the death of me…"

Truth be told, the guy did need to shave. Every day. He shaved every morning, and woke up the next looking like he hadn't done so in a week. Phasing genes were a bitch.

"Paul I have to be at work in fifteen minutes!" Leah growled. She dropped her head against the door but soon heard a cry from outside the house.

"_Oh my God!"_ It was Rachel.

Leah snapped upright with lupine speed, but Paul was out of that bathroom quicker than Leah thought was even possible. She was almost toppled over in her attempt to _not_ be toppled over. She was on the porch by the time Paul was in the yard and Rachel was sitting quite squarely and safely on the edge of the bed of his truck.

"What is it?! Where is it?! Are you okay?!" Paul was frantic, dripping wet mess as he tried to assess what had made his imprint cry out so, and also tried to use his entire body to shield hers. Leah just thought the whole neighborhood was lucky he grabbed a towel on the way out of the house.

Leah heard her mumble something into his chest as he surveyed the woods for a threat. She pushed back far enough to get a word in edgewise. "Paul I _really_ need to pee."

Leah released a full belly laugh as she watched Paul's shoulders sag visibly with relief. She then took her chance and made a beeline for the bathroom.

"Leah!" she heard Paul shout in realization. After that was just the thud on the door as she twisted the lock and smiled in victory. She immediately started disrobing, knowing that her partners on the other side would outsmart her attempts to get a five minute shower with relative ease.

"Leah! I still need to pee! I will pee on something you own!"

"I have a baby brother, that's not much of a threat and you know it."

She heard muffled movements as Rachel came closer to the door. "Paul, you ogre, get out of my way… Just let me in. I'll pee and leave. I promise I won't let the hell beast in."

"Hey!" Paul protested.

"Shut up or I'll pee on something _you_ own. And you don't have a desensitized human nose or hardened older sibling years under your belt to be able to cope with it."

Leah cracked the door open and extended an arm holding a defensive can of hairspray. She let Rachel slip in under her arm and proceeded to slam the door and lock it again. She heard Paul's forehead thump. "I'm going to freeze to death out here!" Paul informed the two girls plainly.

They both laughed and Leah told Rachel to lock the door on her way out and bring the whiney pup another towel.

Leah heard Rachel leave for class not long after her bathroom trip and Leah herself was out of the bathroom after a grand total of five minutes. Showering was quick when every body part could be scrubbed with a bar of Ivory. With the towel wrapped around her she carefully undid the lock and opened the door.

The passage of five minutes and a 108 degree body temperature assured that Paul did not – in fact – freeze to death, but was completely dry. Leah laughed a little at the sight of how his hair had dried. "Think you're funny, huh?" he asked as he leaned against the wall just outside the door.

She couldn't help but grin. "Paul I have to be at work really soon. You don't have anywhere to be for another hour. Sorry if I don't have any sympathy for you."

"You're lucky you're cute."

She scoffed. "I am not cute, Paul Lahote. I am a machine of war and pain and destruction, capable of wreaking horrible vengeance."

"True… but you're also pretty damn cute." He leaned forward to place a kiss on her forehead. "Now get that tight ass out of my way, I got shit to do."


End file.
